


heavy footsteps

by Vale307



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vale307/pseuds/Vale307
Summary: This is my fic inserted in the DrautosZine "A Captain's Tale".Inspired by CrimsonSun's artwork
Kudos: 8





	heavy footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic inserted in the DrautosZine "A Captain's Tale".  
> Inspired by CrimsonSun's artwork

heavy footsteps

The  
vacation period for Titus Drautos coincided, inevitably, with the  
return of General  Glauca  
to Niflheim. His superiors had decided to send him to Tenebrae to make  
sure that  the  
troops, and especially the civilians, respected the Imperial orders  
imposed two years  earlier.  
Knowing that things were getting a little out of hand lately, they had  
decided to  send  
the only man capable of expanding terror with his mere presence. And  
who if not him.  
He  
would have laughed if his mood was not already soured. Titus felt the  
ship slow down,  preparing  
to land. He held his breath, closing his eyes under his helmet, ready  
to meet the  green  
landscape of Tenebrae. He had left Insomnia less than 48 hours ago,  
leaving the  command  
to a rash young gun lover for the next two weeks.  
  
No,  
there was absolutely nothing to laugh about.  
  
He  
would enjoy a good bottle of wine, or even two, if on his return he  
would not find  rows  
of reports to sign and no casualties due to avoidable mishaps within  
the ranks of his  recruits  
in the newborn Kingsglaive. Then, perhaps, he would look for company.  
When  
the tailgate opened, his eyes were greeted by a sunny day. He  
couldn’t help but  admit  
that Tenebrae was beautiful at this time of the morning. Titus breathed  
in the fresh  air  
that only Tenebrea could seemingly offer him, the circuits from the  
ship that were  activated  
with every movement, crackling unnaturally in the morning stillness.  
Memories  
slowly began to surface in his mind as he walked towards the palace.  
The  Empire  
called it “the taking of Tenebrae”, a strategic  
attack that occurred two years earlier  with  
an aim to ambush and kill the King of Lucis, who was there to seek  
healing for his  son.  
But things did not run as smoothly as one imagines.  
Titus  
stopped in a clearing, the armor throbbing slowly with each breath,  
looking over the  green  
and fertile soil that surrounded him. There was so much green but, in  
his eyes, it was  still  
stained with blood. He closed them and the memory of the flames  
appeared before  him.  
He still hadn’t been able to completely get it out of his  
mind at night. After the most  stressful  
days of work, nightmares kept him company startling him awake drenched  
in  cold  
sweat.  
Niflheim  
had decided to support him with the addition of simple soldiers and  
magitek  prototypes  
for a field test, they had said. Titus remembered how, in the midst of  
battle,  he  
saw one of these soldiers out of the corner of his eye use a  
flamethrower against the  Prince  
of Tenebrae. The screams of the Queen still rang in his ears as she  
used her body  as  
a human shield to protect her son, as any mother would have. Her face  
having slowly  disfigured,  
melting from the heat of the fire. Her expression having mirrored the  
thoughts  of  
her slow death.  
He  
remembered stopping, just as the King of Lucis fell among the corpses  
of his attendants,  and  
how Titus then turned to end the queen’s agony. He had acted  
out of mercy, the blade  of  
his sword piercing the woman offering her a quick and painless death,  
her clear eyes  staring  
at him as life seeped out of them. Titus can still remember in the  
vortex of fire and  blood  
that the feathers on the woman’s cloak looked like wings. His  
helmet hid the look  of  
sadness directed to the young Prince kneeling behind the late Queen and  
the shock that  would  
accompany him throughout his life.  
It  
was not supposed to go like this, nobody was to die besides the King.  
And, damn the  Gods,  
the latter had managed to survive. If only he had concentrated on the  
goal, leaving  out  
the humanity that flowed in his veins and in his soul...  
The  
man opened his eyes, moving again to reach the gardens adjacent to the  
palace. He  was  
not in the mood to listen to soldiers speak of haughty nonsense of  
their day to day life.  
He  
had personally organized the list of soldiers and people who would  
settle in Tenebrae  \--  
valid men with good principles, loyal to duty and with family. He had  
chosen them  carefully  
three days after his recovery from the attack by the King’s  
ancestral blades. And  yet,  
the monotony of life led even the most tenacious of men to let go of  
their most darkest  obsessions.   
Titus  
walked slowly, his firm steps echoed on the stone path, and the  
pulsation of his  armor  
acted as a constant reminder in his chest. Other difficult memories  
crept into his  mind  
as the birds on the bushes stopped singing only to fly away upon his  
appearance.  His  
gaze absently followed the flapping of their free wings, nostalgia  
reflected in his eyes.  
Surrounded  
by the green of the woods he thought of the pine forest adjacent to his  
native  village,  
of the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks where men fished, of  
life before  this  
nightmare. Perhaps in retrospect, Cavaugh was not so dissimilar to  
Tenebrae, both  abandoned  
to fend for themselves by a fake King protected by his wall. Screams  
falling  on  
deaf ears in the face of the people’s desperation at their  
current danger. The day of the  attack  
on his village it rained, just as it rained on the day he allied  
himself with the Empire.  They  
had promised him the freedom of his lands.  
His  
armor pulsed bright red as his hand tightened around the hilt of his  
sword. Handling  the  
weapon under his clawed glove brought him great relief. However, hatred  
coursed  through  
him overpowering his senses.  
Titus  
was experiment number 12 of that fucker Verstael Besithia. The number  
had been  tattooed  
on his shoulder like an animal to the slaughter. Tied naked to a bed  
that barely  contained  
his size, he remembered the eyes of that mad scientist who seemed to  
enjoy  every  
needle punctured into his body.  
  
It  
took 7 days to complete the experiment.  
  
He  
remembered the smell of burning when they opened a piece of his chest  
to insert  what  
would later become his personal demon. Demon blood mixed with mithril  
molten  metal.  
The excruciating pain that led him to scream despite being under local  
anesthesia,  accompanied  
by the demonic metal that crawled within his veins to compact under his  
skin.  
Titus  
had never given up, never regretted that choice.  
It  
took months to get used to his new hell. Months in which the wound on  
his chest healed  and  
then again torn open with each call from Glauca. His body had tried to  
rebel against  that  
intrusion even when the pain almost drove him to the brink of insanity  
on the hottest  of  
nights.  
However,  
no fire could compete with the screams of his fellow villagers as the  
soldiers  shot  
them like stray dogs abandoned by Lucis to this terrible fate. The King  
of Lucis could  have  
saved them, he should have saved them. They were his people after all.  
Instead he  sentenced  
them to extermination.  
Hate  
never left him. Hatred made him fight against his human nature. He had  
accepted that  demon,  
had given him a name.  
  
"General  
Glauca ...”  
  
Titus  
came to his senses chasing those memories away from his heart. He  
turned his head  to  
the left, already knowing who that voice belonged to.  
Her...  
The  
Princess of Tenebrae.  
That  
little girl who had slowly become a woman, but who had never had the  
gaze of a  child. Titus  
struggled to accept that look. A look that said she had accepted her  
destiny, whatever  the  
gods chose. But, the Gods do not listen, they are greedy and curious  
observers of the  torments  
of mortals. And surely they wouldn’t choose something happy  
for this girl.  
Time  
seemed to stand still...  
The  
Princess should have hated him because by all accounts he was the one  
who had  mercilessly  
killed her mother. It was he who had made her a prisoner in her own  
house,  and  
unbeknownst to her, saving her from the clutches of soldiers who would  
have gladly  stolen  
her innocence. Titus was the one who had trained her brother to protect  
what was  left  
of his home: his sister. It was what he periodically underlined in his  
briefings -- that  anyone  
who approached the Tenebraen royal palace would respond to him  
personally.  
  
Lunafreya  
didn’t deserve this hell.  
  
He  
allowed himself to look at her maturing face and the way her blond  
strands covered  the  
thin straps of her simple white dress. They fell softly onto what  
seemed like uncovered  slender  
shoulders while her bare legs were delicately strapped into comfortable  
white  sandals.  
Her tapered arms clutched at a bouquet of flowers making a lovely  
image, but still  he  
couldn’t escape that expression on her face.  
  
That  
look ...  
  
Titus  
could not stand it.  
  
The  
look he had been met with the first time two years earlier, when she  
turned towards  him  
after voluntarily releasing the hand of the man who could have saved  
her. She had  preferred  
to save her home and family despite the soldiers surrounding them with  
weapons.  Titus  
had held the girl’s determined gaze. He took notice of her  
young face absent of tears.  He  
had even admired her way of walking amongst soldiers who had forcibly  
clipped her  wings.  
Taking all of this into account, his pride could only be described as  
that of a father  and  
in the most hidden and human side of him, he considered Luna as the  
brave little girl  he  
had to protect.  
He  
would never admit this to anyone, not even himself.  
That  
girl did not deserve all this, that courage and that determination  
locked up in a white  crystal  
cage adorned with fake approval, but Titus could do nothing but defend  
her in the  only  
way he knew how.  
By  
sending severe orders and instilling terror.  
  
It  
was then that the wind rose, shaking the scarlet tails of his cape and  
waving the girl’s  skirt.  
Lunafreya gently raised a hand, holding out a sylleblossom flower to  
him.  
  
And  
inside Glauca’s armor, another piece of Titus  
Drautos’ heart fell apart.  
  
**************************************************************  
  
This is my fic inserted in the DrautosZine "A Captain's Tale".  
Inspired by CrimsonSun's artwork.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
